


If it's not Broken

by Xeen



Category: Stitchers (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 02:44:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5074366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xeen/pseuds/Xeen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirsten and Cameron must discuss what really happened during their stitch together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If it's not Broken

 

I don't own Stitchers

 

It has been a few weeks since he almost offed himself and things should be back to normal, except they're not. Everything has changed. Drastically. If he was paranoid before, it's reached unprecedented levels. The way they walk on eggshells around him is slowly driving him nuts. Unless he's suffering from a major memory loss because of his unfortunate stunt, he might as well as have stepped through the looking glass.

Maggie is eerily cheerful. All the time. He seriously doubts her behaviour is the result of Turner being a no show. Camille embraced her new career as a stitch pilot with unerring willingness, making her a hard-work student and a perfect bore. Linus conveniently lost interest in video games or binge watching anything. He won't even be tempted by a Star Wars original trilogy all-nighter. Bro nights are simply out of the picture.

And don't even get him started on Kirsten. They could as well replace the resident blonde tomcat with a manikin. She stitches, doesn't comment on whatever pet name he comes up with, and not once has she decided to go out in the field with or without him. She lets Fisher follow the leads or Maggie call reinforcements, and keeps busy at her desk with her own projects.

He feels invisible, useless, and dangerously prone to vitamin D deficiency. He's got so much free time on his hands that sleeping in or slacking off on the job doesn't seem like an indulgence any more. Not that Maggie would ask him to snap out of it, she'll go all mother-hen and smile. Or worse, pat him on the shoulder. But there's only so many hours in a day he can spend online ordering hair products and kitchen appliances. He used to love his work. Now being at the lab, it's like watching paint dry. Where is the fun in that? He needs a distraction. Better yet, he needs his old life back.

"Hey, Princess, wassup?" he muses, hovering behind Kirsten, deep in thought in front of a screen that shows cats playing cards, cats engaged in laser saber fights, cats baking, you name it. "I didn't picture you as a cat person."

"I'm not," she states, "why would I be?"

"Where to begin?" he grins, pointing a finger at her computer.

She swivels round her chair and stares at him, one eyebrow raised in puzzled interrogation. He refrains from recoiling. "But I don't suffer from ailurophobia either, in case you were wondering," she finally adds.

"I wasn't."

"Good, because the hate or fear of sentient beings is hardly a trait I favour."

"I'm glad you clarify it." Why is it so difficult to speak with Kirsten? Not that it used to be easy before. At least it seemed like an option. Oblivious, she's back to browsing for more cat extravaganza. "If you must know, I was just trying to engage in a frivolous conversation." She stays silent. He sighs, bouncing on the ball of his feet, readying himself for retreat. "Okay then… Nice talk, Stretch."

"I was not aware the Internet was such a cat fest," she says out of the blue. "Did you know?" She looks at him, waiting for his answer.

He grins like an idiot before realizing she's dead serious. "Yep, I've spent years roaming social networks, well because, you know…" he points at his chest and winces. "For some reason, the Internet loves cats. Gifs, videos, memes, they're everywhere. It's worse than six degrees of Kevin Bacon! Google the Pope, I'm sure you'll find a cat granting its blessing on…"

"Kevin Bacon?"

"Sorry, he's an actor."

"I know who Kevin Bacon is. I'm not following."

"Ah, ah," he grins again. Oh, boy, it wasn't a joke, he thinks, she has no idea. Whatever. "Six degrees of Kevin Bacon, never heard of it? It's a parlour game based on a theory which posits that any individual in the world is six or fewer steps away from anybody else on the planet due to its ever expanding connectedness."

"I see. Fascinating. Coincidence is not a variable?"

"I guess not."

She gets up rigidly, crossing her arms over her chest. "Cameron, I was not completely straightforward about the stitch," she confesses, ignoring their co-workers.

"Okay," he says carefully. "What do you mean? Is Fisher in danger?"

She frowns. "Why would Fisher be in danger?"

"You just told me that you left something out. I don't want to send him into a trap after what he's been through already. If you think you saw something else when you stitched into our last sample, he must know!"

"Paul? Oh no, I was referring to OUR stitch."

"It's all right," he smiles. Here they go again. They're in an endless loop. "I didn't notice the licence plate, don't beat yourself up, we'll find another way. It's not your fault."

"Of course it's not. Cameron, you look well," she adds, without skipping a beat.

"Huh… thank you?"

"Ayo doesn't think you'll get any better…"

"What is it supposed to mean? Did she say anything specific?"

"Stop interrupting please. She just said we must be patient. As far as I can tell, you seem to be back to normal, at least to your normal self."

"Really?!"

"I think it's time we discuss what I saw when I was in your head."

"Sounds good. We have like an hour before your next stitch," he makes a shows of looking at his watch. "The conference room okay?"

"No, the lab is probably stuffed with hidden cameras or sophisticated recording devices."

"Paranoid much," he teases her. She glowers at him. So much for patching their burgeoning relationship. "I was joking, Ace. It's a joke!"

"I'm glad you're so easily entertained, Dr Goodkin."

"That doesn't change you're due back in the tank in less than fifty eight minutes, Aquagirl," he argues.

"I am simply stating a fact. Our talk is long overdue."

"I had no idea we needed to talk again. So, what do you think? Nice dinner? You choose the place, I'm buying."

"Of course you are, but I'd rather avoid any public place. I'm not one hundred percent certain I can trust you, and since Camille and Linus have been contemplating a cosy evening at my place, I think your apartment will be fine."

"Hello? Are you for real? Of course you can trust me! Wait, my place?" Fighting a serious case of the jitters, he asks himself what is so important that Kirsten would spend the evening at his place when they're barely on speaking terms. She never even set foot at the hospital during his recovery, and hardly talked to him since he has been back to the lab unless it's work related. She has given him the cold shoulder since his failed suicide weeks ago.

"Don't get your boxers in a twist, smarty pants, it doesn't have to be today. I took into consideration that you'd go on a cleaning spree before you let me set foot inside your apartment."

"Bunch."

"Excuse me?"

"Boxers in a bunch."

"Whatever. Just so you know, I can't care less about your imaginary dust bunnies. It's not a social call. So are we good?"

"We're good, tonight is fine."

"Oh, in case you're wondering, there'll be no sex involved either."

"Glad you mention it, I feel better already," he deflects, feeling redness creeping up his cheeks.

"I'm glad we're on the same page. One more thing. You know you can't drive yet, so we'll share a cab."

"Okay boss."

"I'm glad we cleared that. See you after work, then," she beams.

He takes a step back, trips on a power cord, sends stacks of files cascading down to the floor. He waves his hand dismissively, already down on his knees. "I'll take care of the mess."

She bobs her head, intrigued. "Of course you will. I'll go change now."

 


End file.
